Sword of Apollo (46 page)

“Irony is the bitterest poison,” said Demetrios flatly. “And how was he executed?”

“A tunic of stones,” said Nikias.

Demetrios closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “And his body?”

“Cast outside the borders of Plataea.”

Demetrios let forth a stricken groan and fell to his knees. He started retching and was sick on the floor. “Kill me now,” he said, coughing and choking on his vomit.

Nikias leapt to his feet and grabbed Demetrios's sword, then turned and plunged it through a hole in the rubble wall where a Syrakusan's face had appeared, skewering the man through the eye.

“Into the tunnel!” Nikias shouted. “Into the tunnel!” He thrust the sword into the gap again. “Demetrios!” he bellowed. But his friend did not move.

Nikias cast aside the sword and grabbed Demetrios by his right arm, dragging him to the low entrance of the escape tunnel and pushing him in. “Crawl!” shouted Nikias. “Crawl or you'll trap me! They're coming!”

This seemed to rouse Demetrios from his stupor, for he started inching along on hands and knees. The light cast from lamps in the outer passage was growing dim. Soon they were moving along in total darkness and the sounds of the enemy became muffled. The air was stifling and hot and Nikias had to fight with all of his strength of will to keep from panicking and screaming. His heart pounded in his ears. Sweat poured into his eyes. Every so often he would reach out and touch Demetrios's heels just to make certain he was still moving, for he was terrified that his friend would come to a stop in the tunnel, and there was not enough space anywhere along the way to push past him. And what if Diokles and the others hadn't managed to create an opening? Eventually he and Demetrios would come to a place where the prisoners were crammed together in the tunnel, and then they would be trapped in this dark and horrible place. The floor was slick with urine and feces in some places where frightened men had relieved themselves. The gods themselves couldn't have thought of a worse punishment. He fought against an animal fear.

Time became meaningless. All was darkness and terror. He wondered if the Syrakusans had sent somebody into the tunnel after them. Was a warrior directly behind him now, ready to spear him in his exposed backside? That would be an ignoble way to die—a spear up the arse. But he couldn't hear anyone behind him. The Syrakusans probably thought that this tunnel was a dead end. Or they would try to smoke them out.

After what seemed like hours Nikias saw a glow up ahead and let forth a sigh of relief, thinking that it was daylight. But it was just a guttering lamp that one of the prisoners had left in the passageway.

“How far have we gone, Demetrios?” Nikias gasped.

“Don't know,” Demetrios replied. “Keep moving.”

They plunged into darkness again, and after a while Nikias started seeing things. He saw faces: his grandparents, his mother, his sister, and Kallisto. He saw a vision of his daughters, but Helena was holding them, not their mother. And then he saw Leo and Kolax, and old Saeed dancing around a fire at the lagoon in Lydia. He imagined that he was riding on Photine, but she threw him and he landed on top of Eurymakus, who embraced him with his one arm and turned into a huge fox.

“You're talking to yourself,” said Demetrios. “Shut up.”

Nikias started weeping and kept crawling—squirming forever down this evil shaft. When would it ever end? Would they see light again? He started moving faster, but all at once he collided with Demetrios.

“Why have you stopped?” Nikias asked desperately.

“Someone in front of me,” replied Demetrios. “They must not have been able to break an opening. Perhaps they dug the wrong way at the end. It's easy to do.”

Nikias sucked in his breath and let out an agonized howl. He lay flat on the floor of the passage and contorted as his body was wracked with sobs. He felt something on his head and shuddered. It was Demetrios's hand in his hair. His friend reached back to stroke him on the head like a father with a crying toddler.

“I'm sorry,” Nikias said. “I'm so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” said Demetrios, in a voice that was also choked with tears.

Another few minutes went by—minutes that might as well have been days. Then a voice in front of Demetrios shouted in joy, “They're moving again! I smell fresh air!”

“They're moving again!” said Demetrios to Nikias. “Did you hear? Come on!”

The tunnel started to slope up and became narrower. They wormed their way up it. They squirmed and fought until the skin on their knees was raw. And then, up ahead, Nikias saw a blurry glow—sunlight! The passage here went sharply upward, and by the time they got to the opening they could barely move, they were so exhausted. Many hands pulled Demetrios into the open air, and a great cheer went up from the men outside the shaft. And then more hands reached for Nikias and dragged him to freedom.

“Thank the gods,” Diokles said as he helped Nikias sit down with his back against a stone. “I thought you were dead.”

“You did it,” said Nikias, squinting in the brilliant light. He saw trees. And seagulls circling overhead. “You broke through.”

“Hard ground,” said Diokles. “And harder still with a tunnel full of men behind taking all the air. We took a chance and went straight up.”

Nikias peered at his surroundings. They were in a forest on a rocky slope. Several hundred of the prisoners stood or squatted nearby. Many were gasping for air, while others who had had time to recover stood as sentinels, waiting for the Syrakusans to arrive. But there was no sign of them as yet. He saw Thersites lying on the ground, kissing the earth as though it were a lover.

“Where are you going? Quarry Lord!”

Nikias looked up and saw Demetrios staggering away from the group. Several of the quarrymen tried to follow him, but he pushed them away.

“Leave me be!” shouted Demetrios.

Nikias got up and followed him down the slope and over a hill. On the other side was a grove of olive trees and an old shrine. A figure stood there, looking around expectantly—what appeared to be a slender young woman. When she saw Demetrios she let forth a cry and held a hand to her cheek, then ran to him and leapt into his arms, and Demetrios uttered the name “Barka.”

“Nikias!” yelled a voice from the woods. He looked up and saw a blur rushing toward him and was practically knocked on his back from the wild embrace that followed.

“Kolax?” asked Nikias in amazement. He stared at him closer and was astonished to see the Skythian's face under the mop of dark hair with its red roots. “How…?”

“Such a long tale!” said Kolax. “And we've got miles for me to tell it to you. I'm so glad that you escaped.”

Ji loped up to them and said, “Come, Nikias. We must get back to the ships. They will leave without us.”

“Demetrios!” Nikias called out to where his friend and the eunuch stood together. “Come, we have to go! We can't stay here!”

They went back to the tunnel egress and rounded up all of the surviving quarrymen—five hundred strong—then headed northeast over the hills, dog-trotting through the fields, for every one of the men in the company was exhausted. But they saw no sign of the Syrakusans, and made fast time. Kolax stayed glued to Nikias's side and talked the whole way, telling him about his adventures after they had become separated on Mount Kithaeron. Nikias was glad to have the barbarian with him, for his talking kept his mind off the pain of the burns he'd suffered on his arms and legs. He wondered how badly he would have fared if he and Thersites had not plunged themselves into the cisterns. He saw Thersites running at the front of the pack of men. He glanced back now and then, smiling and nodding at Nikias in his simple way.

They stopped several times to take water and rest, but Demetrios drove them on at a relentless pace. The quarrymen did whatever he said. By the time they got to the cove where the
Spear
and the
Briseis
were beached, Nikias could hardly move his legs, and his mind was numb with the sound of Kolax's voice. The ships were still there, and from the top of the ridge that overlooked the beach Nikias could see Chusor and Helena standing near the prow of the
Spear
like sentinels. Kolax took off down the steep bank like a dog and ran to Melitta, who stood by the lapping waves. He tackled her and they fell into the sea, laughing uproariously.

“There's the
Spear
,” said Nikias to Demetrios. “I've been thinking about this. We can ferry some of your quarrymen over to Italia and then come back and get the rest. The ships can't take everyone at once.”

“I'm staying here,” said Demetrios adamantly. He was standing next to Barka, who had both of his arms wrapped around his waist, as though to hold Demetrios fast to his side. “I'm staying with my men. There are many city-states on this island that will give us refuge, enemies of Syrakuse looking for strong warriors. And now that Pantares is dead, things will change on this island.”

“But you have to come home,” said Nikias.

“I don't have a home,” said Demetrios. “My father made sure of that. I'm a citizen of nowhere. I have to make a new place for myself. A new name. With Hyakinthos at my side. May Poseidon guide your ships to Naupaktos, and thence to Plataea.”

Nikias didn't argue with him. He knew there was nothing that he could say. If Demetrios came back to Plataea, he would be scorned and possibly murdered by the citizens left alive in the citadel … if any
were
left alive. He went up to his friend and hugged him, and Demetrios stood limp with his arms at his sides. “I love you, my brother,” Nikias said, and squeezed him tighter. “I will always love you.”

Demetrios suddenly wrapped his arms around Nikias and put his mouth close to his ear. “Find my father's bones, Nik, and bury them, will you? I would do the same for you if our stories were changed.”

Nikias nodded.

He made his way down to the
Spear
and Helena ran to him across the beach. He took her in his arms and she covered his face with kisses.

“The gods smile upon me this day,” she said, her face streaming with tears.

The men of the
Spear
gave food, water, and weapons to the quarrymen. And then the small army, led by their general, Demetrios, left the cove and headed overland in the direction of the smoldering volcano, Mount Aetna. Nikias saw Chusor and Barka exchange a final word. Then Barka went to Diokles and kissed him. The Helot smiled as if to say, “All is forgiven.” And then the eunuch was gone, smiling and running toward Demetrios like a carefree girl heading off on a lark.

Nikias helped put the
Spear
in the water, then went to the prow and stood next to Chusor, Melitta, and Helena. Ji's voice carried from below deck, exhorting the men at their labors.

Nikias saw Thersites standing amongst the mariners assigned to unfurl the sails, skillfully helping the crew members with the ropes. He was the only quarryman who had decided to leave Demetrios and remain with the ship. Thersites was insane, Nikias knew, but he hadn't lied about being a mariner—he fit right in on the trireme.

“Do your arms hurt?” Helena asked.

Ezekiel had covered Nikias's burns with a healing unguent and had given him some opium for the pain. Now he felt as though he were drifting in the clouds.

“I feel fine,” he replied.

“I didn't think … I'd ever see you again,” whispered Helena.

He noticed that she held both hands over her womb as if to suppress a stomachache, but she showed no signs of being ill. In fact, she looked exceptionally beauteous. And then he realized all of a sudden that she was pregnant and glowing from being with child.

“There's the new moon,” said Melitta, pointing at a sliver of moon rising in the gloaming. Kolax stood by her side, gazing at her lovingly. Nikias noticed she brushed Kolax's palm with her littlest finger and he winked at her. Nikias looked to see if Chusor had seen this exchange, but he was staring out to sea as if trying to read the pattern of the waves.

“And look at Apollo's chariot,” said Kolax, pointing at the setting sun, which had turned the clouds the sacrificial hues of wine and blood.

The beauty of the sun's descent was not lost on Nikias. He stared in awe. When he had been in the tunnel, crawling like a worm, he had thought he would never see the sky or sun or anything beautiful ever again.

“This is how Theseus must have felt when he came out of the Labyrinth,” Nikias thought. “When he got on board his ship and headed home.”

He became aware that Helena was staring at him intently, and he kissed her on the forehead. But even as his lips touched her skin, he thought of Kallisto and the euphoria of the opium vanished and a bitter taste filled his mouth.

 

FOURTEEN

It took several weeks for Nikias's burns to heal, and so he was excused from taking his turn at the oars. He spent the days shadowing Chusor, learning how to navigate as well as rig the sails.

Thersites tried to be helpful as well, but half of what the man said was gibberish. Nikias had to watch him tie a knot or set a sail rope rather than listen to him, otherwise his instructions wouldn't make sense. Ezekiel told Nikias that the part of the brain that controlled speech must have been damaged by the blow Thersites had suffered long ago. “It's as if his tongue is a chariot connected to wild dogs instead of obedient horses.” The doctor was fascinated by Thersites and would sit with him for long spells, asking him questions and writing down notes.

For several hours each day Nikias and Chusor locked themselves in the little cabin and Chusor taught him everything that he had learned from Naxos of Syrakuse concerning siegecraft. He drew meticulous diagrams for making bolt shooters like the ones mounted to the
Spear
, and wall-mounted cranes that could hook siege towers and flip them over. He explained in exacting detail how to manufacture the parts and assemble these machines so that Nikias would be able to guide the craftsmen who had been left behind in the citadel. Chusor also made a diagram of Plataea showing a counterwall around it, and speculated on how the Persian known as the City-Killer might try to breach the walls.